Looking at Nice Houses

One day many years ago, when our children were young, I noticed a bit of boredom setting in. I may have intentionally contributed to that state, knowing that it would make Kathy grow restless. Sure enough, she soon suggested we get out of the house and go for a ride. She enjoyed looking at the beautiful Puget Sound scenery. She liked to look for nice houses. She would frequently ooh and ahh at fancy homes, meticulous landscaping, and especially the occasional “Painted Lady” Victorian home.

We gathered all the kids and jumped into the van. Kathy gave no specific directions, so I set my own course, heading away from home and toward a scenic, wooded area outside of Redmond, Washington. Trees loomed above us. Above everything. Tall, stately hemlock and Douglas fir trees, easily 150 feet tall or more. Ferns grew in their shade. Wild blackberry bushes spread their thorny vines along the roadsides.

It was a beautiful day to enjoy such sights and we treasured the moment with our three children. We drove along a curvy road to the crest of a hill, where we encounted an almost hidden entrance to a neighbood in the woods, a brick sign naming it “Gunshy Ridge.” I turned the car to enter the neighborhood and entered quite a different environment.

Oh, the trees were still there, although a bit more sparse in order to accomodate the houses. But the houses! In a region where almost all houses were made of wood, every one of these houses was made of brick. Not plain brick, either. Fancy brick, with enhanced, decorative masonry. In many cases, the yards contained planters also made of brick and we also saw many brick driveways.

Kathy immediately gasped to express her awe. “Ooh, look at that! So pretty! Ahh, did you see that one?” These large mansions each sat on an expansive tract of well-manicured lawns and gardens. Each house seemed to out-do the one before it.

We drove slowly to the end of the neighborhood, about a mile. As we turned around, Kathy mused, “Oh, they’re so beautiful on the outside, but I wonder if they’re just as nice on the inside.”

I could not have planned this better. And believe me, I had planned this. “Why don’t we find out?” I asked.

“Yeah, right. How do we do that?” she wondered.

“Easy,” I replied. “Let’s just go knock on one of the doors and ask them if we can see the inside.” She didn’t think I was serious, but the boys—about four and five years old—thought it was a reasonable idea. To punctuate my idea, I immediately pulled into the nearest driveway. Kathy nearly panicked! She shouted at me to get off the driveway and I wouldn’t dare and I couldn’t be serious. But I followed the circular driveway right to the front door.

Nearly apoplectic, Kathy continued to splutter and shout to keep driving. I decided to recruit some help. “Hey, boys,” I called. “Go knock on the door and ask if we can come in and see the inside of the house.”

“No!” Kathy screamed. “Don’t you dare! Get back in your seats and put your seatbelts back on.” But this was just too much fun for the boys and they decided to listen to their father this time, jumping out of the van to approach the house. About to die of embarrassment, our daughter—about 11 years old—dove into the back and tried to hide behind the back seat.

Just as the boys neared the front door, a couple of our friends opened it to investigate all the commotion. I explained to Kathy that I found out just the day before that our friends had recently leased the house and moved in. That ended the joke, but sealed one of our family’s favorite memories.